New York, New York
by NCCJFAN
Summary: Takes place five years in the future...Woody is now an agent with the FBI, working in New York, away from Boston and Jordan. But a case she stumbles on puts them working back together again. Can the romance between the two re-ignite?
1. From Boston to New York

DISCLAIMER: You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney...oops, wrong disclaimer.  
  
Anyway, I don't own any of Crossing Jordan, darn it. I just do this for fun and as a creative outlet. Now that you've been disclaimed, let me know how you like this new story. It's been hard to start and I'm not sure where it's going. Many thanks for the kind reviews on the other fanfics I've written ===============================================================

New York held a different kind of cold than Boston.  
  
In Boston, sure it snowed. Snowed for weeks. And it would blanket the parks and streets and lawns. But it was almost a comforting kind of cold, if there were such a thing. The snow looked as if it was tucking in the city under a quilt for the winter. A cozy kind of cold, if such a thing existed.  
  
New York City was different. The snow was considered just another inconvenience in getting from point A to point B, and was treated as such. As soon as it accumulated, snow plows and salt reduced the icy precipitation to slush and it was headed for the sewer system. Instead of the snow being a blanket over the city, it was a dirty, mushy eyesore.  
  
Woody considered all of this, as he looked up at the New York skyline, snowflakes lightly touching his face and melting under the warmth of his skin. Boston. It seemed worlds, years, centuries away from where he was now. Pulling his coat around him a little tighter, he entered the FBI building and made his way to his office.  
  
As a matter of fact, Boston hadn't crossed his mind in a while. For the longest time, it had seemed to be just a footnote on the page of his life. He had somewhat effectively put the place and the people behind him. And he was usually successful until he would see a wavy-haired, leggy, brown- eye brunette walking down the street. Sometimes that would still trigger memories of Boston, her, and what might have been.  
  
What might have been, instead of what was. Instead of remaining with the Boston PD, Woody opted to make a career move. It hadn't been necessarily from dissatisfaction with his job, but with a general discontent with their relationship. It hadn't moved forward. She still held him at arm's length. Hell, the wall stayed up – even after all they had gone through with the Malden case. He had felt sure after that, she would trust him and they would have had a real relationship instead of just a few dances and drinks together every now and then. But, he had wanted something more than she was willing to give.  
  
So, when a position at the FBI opened up, Woody applied and was accepted. After training in Quantico, he was transferred to New York City, where he had been for the better part of the last five years. He had put Boston, the people, and her, behind him. He left and didn't look back. And other than an occasional Christmas or birthday card with a short note from her, he didn't think much about the city. She was different. A woman in a sexy red dress, the smell of someone wearing her perfume, the Sox playing the Mets...all of those could trigger a memory. But he had reached the point where he could safely put those memories away almost as soon as they rose to his mind. His life had gone on....a new city, a new apartment, new friends, a new bar, new girls.  
  
No, Boston was a long way from his thoughts. Until yesterday. The Bureau had been working for two years on dissolving what was left of the "old" mafia and curtailing any "new" activity. Until that time, the action was in New York City. But a murder in Boston brought the mob hits away from that city and into Northeast suburbs that were supposedly safe and relatively crime free. It seemed that a local mobster, Bob Scalanti, had gone to visit his mother in Boston. He was shot and killed outside her house. It was a classic mob hit, eliminating one of the top mob men and opening up a possible bloody jockeying of positions to fill the vacancy. The hit was thought to have had originated with a group in New York City. And all this was just pure speculation up to that point. The good news for the FBI was that one of the people on the scene arrived when Scalanti was alive and Scalanti had told that person valuable information about the crime before he died. The person that he told was a Boston ME. And according to the file that Woody was now carefully reading, the same ME did the autopsy. Unfortunately for the ME, it put that person in peril. The rival mob that committed the murder would be anxious to silence them. And unfortunately for Woody, that ME was Jordan.  
  
His boss had singled him out.  
  
"Hoyt, didn't you used to work in Boston – with the Boston PD?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Still got friends on the force?"  
  
Woody thought about how little contact he had with his old buddies. "Probably, sir, but it's been a long time."  
  
"The Boston PD officer over this case – Eddie Winslow – know him?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Good. You're now in charge of our Boston connection and its witness."  
  
"Witness?"  
  
"Yeah. The ME's now our star witness in this case. That means..."  
  
Woody groaned inwardly. He knew what that meant.  
  
He was in charge of Jordan.

======================================================================

Jordan was pacing her apartment. She had been confined to her small rooms for three days now, in "protective custody." The walls were closing in on her and she was getting edgy. As much as she understood her predicament, and as nice as the police were being, it was all getting to her.  
  
"You're going to wear a hole in your carpet if you don't sit down," Eddie said.  
  
Jordan stopped. Looking out the window, she asked, "How long, Eddie? How long until all this is over?"  
  
Eddie fully sympathized with Jordan and had been slightly amazed at her attitude about the whole situation. He had anticipated her being resistant to the idea of protective custody. Hell, he expected her to bolt and run. Instead she had been cooperative and understanding. But he also understood how hard it was for her to stay inside these two tiny rooms. "I don't know, sweetheart. I do know that the New York FBI unit has you in their sights and should be here soon to get you."  
  
Jordan sighed. "How long do I have to stay in New York?"  
  
"Well, that depends. On how well they have their case together, on how valuable your information is, how quickly this is going to trial." He did not add it would also depend if the FBI thought they could keep her safer in New York than in Boston. If that was so, she may be in New York for a while. "Are you packed and ready to go?"  
  
"Yeah. I would really like to see Garrett and Nigel before I leave, though."  
  
"Let me see what I can do."  
  
Jordan sat back down on the couch, continuing to look out the window. She didn't like the thoughts of leaving home, despite the fact that she had no real roots any longer in Boston. Her father was gone, still chasing after whatever it was he was trying to find after the Malden case. She wasn't married. She had no children. Other than her "family" at the morgue, she had no one. But Boston was where she was raised and it did hold some good memories. And her mother. Her mother was still here.  
  
She guessed it was the comfort of the familiar that kept her here. Same drive to work. Same drinks at the same bar. Same grocery store. Sameness. She didn't have to deal with the unfamiliar. She was at a point in her life where she couldn't deal with the stress of the unknowing and the unknown. It had ripped her life apart before. She wasn't going to let it again.  
  
And that was what New York was – unfamiliar. It had the potential for unraveling all the stability that Jordan had worked so hard to forge in her life. It wasn't comforting. It was stressful. And now it had the potential to be deadly.  
  
Eddie stuck his head in the living room. "Garrett and Nigel are on their way. But it will have to be quick. The FBI just arrived at Logan."  
  
A few minutes later, Garrett and Nigel made their way into Jordan's living room. She hugged both of them. "Guess I'll be gone for a little while," she said.  
  
"Don't worry about it. I'll cover with the boss man for you," Garrett joked, trying to talk over the lump in his throat. He was going to miss his resident "pain in the ass" and frankly, was worried about her in this situation.  
  
"I'll keep everything straight while you're gone, love. And if you need me, call me. I'm sure I can get time off to come to New York and hold your hand – or anything else that needs holding," Nigel said, wagging his eyebrows at her.  
  
"Well, hopefully, they'll just listen to what I have to say, read the autopsy report, and send me home," Jordan said.  
  
Garrett nodded. What Jordan didn't know was that there were threats already being made on her life. It was important to get her safely and secretly out of Boston as soon as possible.  
  
"Jo, they're here," Eddie said. "They're waiting for us in the hall. Better say your goodbyes quick."  
  
Jordan hugged and kissed both Garrett and Nigel. "Take care of yourselves until I get back," she said. "I'm going to miss you."  
  
Nigel hugged her back, hard, and looked down into her eyes. "Hey, you look after yourself. Don't worry about us. And I mean it. Call me." Jordan nodded.  
  
Garrett looked at Jordan for a long moment before hugging her one more time. He drew back and gently kissed her on the forehead. "Jo, I'm going to miss you. Be careful....and I love you, okay?"  
  
Jordan felt tears creeping up in her eyes. "Look, I'll be fine. I'll probably be home next week and we'll laugh over this."  
  
"Jo..." Eddie said.  
  
Garrett and Nigel got one more hug and left. The FBI agents, in typical dark suits and dark glasses were outside the door of Jordan's apartment.  
  
"You ready?" asked Eddie.  
  
"Yeah, let me get my suitcases." She handed the suit bag and suitcase to Eddie, but carried her overnight case herself. Eddie walked her to the door of her apartment.  
  
"Okay Jo. This is where we part."  
  
"You're not going with me to New York?" Jordan had taken his comforting presence for granted.  
  
"No, baby. I've got to stay here and put this case together on the Boston end."  
  
Jordan swallowed hard. She had just guessed that Eddie would be accompanying her.  
  
"Look, you'll do fine and you're in the best hands in the world. I'll be talking with you soon."  
  
With that, one of agents took possession of Jordan's luggage and another took possession of Jordan's arm. "Good afternoon, Dr. Cavanaugh." The voice was coming from the agent that held Jordan's arm – a voice that was vaguely familiar and still made chills run up her spine. She looked up. She couldn't see his eyes behind the dark glasses, but she knew the voice and the hair. It was Woody.


	2. New York Flights

Woody leaned back and stretched in the plane seat, glancing over at Jordan who was fast sleep in the window seat next to him. So far the whole experience had been, well, uneventful. Not something he exactly expected from Jordan. He had prepared himself for at least one or two power tussles from her.  
  
The bureau had stressed to Woody and the other agents how vital Jordan could be to this case. Getting her safely to New York was of primary importance. So they had carefully plotted out the course, then checked and re-checked it. Drive to Logan. Fly out. Go due east for awhile to throw anyone who may be interested off course, then fly back to New York.  
  
Getting her safely to Logan was one thing. Getting her into the plane and the plane safely down the runway was another. Woody had been thankful Jordan was cooperative. She had said hardly a word as the agents doubled back, led her through tunnels and down back hallways to the plane. Once on board, she buckled herself in, took one last look at the Boston landscape, and fell asleep, hardly acknowledging Woody.  
  
Did that disappoint him? Maybe, in one way. When he left Boston, there were a lot of issues they had never taken the time to work through. Maybe not, in another way. He had been gone five years. He couldn't expect them to pick back up where they left off. Perhaps she had moved on, too. Right now, the only concern he had was her safety ... and those dark circles under her eyes. It seems that this situation might be wrecking havoc on her peace of mind. She looked like she hadn't slept well in days, although she was sound asleep now. She didn't even budge when Woody had covered her with a blanket.  
  
Woody smiled to himself. He guessed some things never changed with Jordan. He was still protecting her...still keeping the bad guys away from her. He glanced at her again. And he still thought she was the hottest woman on earth, dark circles and all.

===================================================

"Jordan, wake up, we're here," Woody said, gently shaking her awake. Jordan woke with a start, unsure at first where she was and what was going on. Then it hit her – she was on a plane, bound for New York, and Boston was hundreds of miles and a memory away. And her life had been put on hold all because she answered the call for Bob Scalanti. She shook her head. One lousy call and her life, everything she was familiar with, was turned upside down.  
  
And on top of that, if that wasn't enough, the FBI decides to let Woody be responsible for getting her from Boston to New York. Damn, if the gods of fate didn't have a strange sense of humor.  
  
Pulling the blanket off of her, she unbuckled and stood up. Immediately, she was surrounded by agents. "Hey, guys, I'm not going anywhere," she said. "I'm just stretching."  
  
"They're just doing their job, Jordan," said Woody.  
  
"I know. I'm just still getting used to this 'protective custody' thing. Bear with me, huh, guys?" She smiled at the agents, hoping to charm them into loosening up a little.  
  
It didn't work Not a one of them cracked a smile, including Woody. "Damn," she thought, "This is going to be harder than I ever imagined."  
  
Jordan was soon escorted down the steps of the plane into a waiting car. Again, Woody slipped into the car seat beside of her, this time plugging an ear piece in his ear. The drive to the FBI building was quiet, except for the few times Woody had to give directions over the ear piece. The vehicle pulled into the underground parking garage. Once again, Jordan was immediately surrounded by agents as they escorted her upstairs to the interrogation offices.  
  
"Sit down and make yourself comfortable," Woody said, motioning to a couch in the room. "Can I get you something to drink?"  
  
"Some coffee would be great, Wood."  
  
Woody opened the door and told someone to bring in some coffee. He turned back around. Jordan was still standing.  
  
"Sit, Jordan."  
  
"Gee, Woody, can't a girl go to the powder room here? And do you have to follow me there?"  
  
Woody closed his eyes and counted to ten. He should have figured somewhere along the way, Jo would stop being entirely cooperative and test his good nature. Now was the time.  
  
"Yes, you can go to the bathroom. And yes, I have to follow you. But I'll stand outside the door while you take care of business."  
  
Jordan smiled. Woody followed her to the restroom. A few minutes later, they were back in the interrogation room, along with the requested coffee and five other FBI agents.  
  
"Good evening, Dr. Cavanaugh," said one of the older men. "My name is Agent Winstead. We need to ask you some questions and then we'll get you settled for the evening. Okay?" He motioned for Jordan to sit down in the chair opposite him. "Can I pour you some coffee?"  
  
Jordan nodded, sitting down and crossing her legs. "Thank you."  
  
"Cream and sugar?"  
  
"Black is fine. Could I have my briefcase, please?"  
  
Woody handed her the briefcase and sat down beside Agent Winstead. After Jordan got her coffee, the questioning began.  
  
"Could you tell us, from the beginning, what happened the night that Bob Scalanti was killed?" Agent Winstead began.  
  
Jordan had grown up a cop's daughter and had worked with police all her professional life. She knew what Agent Winstead wanted. She proceeded to tell them, in great detail, all about the crime scene. From her briefcase, she produced pictures of the body and the scene. "What is most important, at least to me, is the fact that any one of these shots, even if thought of collectively, were not fatal. It was the type of bullets used – the hollow tipped ones. They are generally deadly regardless of the area of the wound."  
  
Woody knew that was significant. Most mob hits are to the head and done with fairly standard ammunition.  
  
Jordan continued. "What is probably most important to you, though, is the fact that Scalanti told me who his murderer was before he died. It was Pete Gavanotitch."  
  
If it had been professional to audibly gasp at the table, Woody, as well as Agent Winstead, would have. Gavanotitch was a direct link to the rival mob. Jordan had just turned their suspicions into fact.  
  
She had also just put her life in incredible danger.  
  
Agent Winstead followed up with a few more questions. Finally, he looked at his watch. "It's almost nine o'clock, Dr. Cavanaugh. I'm going to have Agent Hoyt take you to your hotel and secure you there. We will talk again tomorrow morning. Is that okay?"  
  
Jordan had a feeling it had to be 'okay' whether she wanted it to or not. "Sure. Then can I go back home?"  
  
"Er, no. Actually there's a few other folks you're going to have to talk to before we can send you back to Boston. So plan to stay a few days in our lovely city."  
  
Jordan rose and began to gather her briefcase and reports together. Agent Winstead shot Woody a look over Jordan's head. There was no way in hell she was getting out of New York before an arrest was made. And it was up to Woody to break the news to her


	3. FBI Nights

Woody took Jordan to a hotel across the street from the FBI offices. After entering through the back, they took a freight elevator up to the tenth floor. Woody walked her down the hall to the end room.  
  
"It's a secured suite, Jordan," he explained. "It has two bedrooms and two baths. It also has secured phone lines and cable. That means you can use the phones to call Garrett or whoever, as well as use the internet on your laptop. An agent will have to be with you at night," he continued. "And we will be with you throughout the day as long as you're in New York."  
  
Jordan swung around to face him. "You don't mean you're staying with me at night?" she asked.  
  
"Ummm, no. Actually, that is Agent Phillips," he said, pushing the door to the suite open.  
  
"Agent Phillips, this is Dr. Cavanaugh," Woody said, introducing Jordan to the woman who was waiting in the living area of the suite.  
  
"Nice to meet you, Dr. Cavanaugh," Agent Phillips said.  
  
"Please, call me Jordan." Jordan thought Agent Phillips looked more like a female drill sergeant than an agent – tall and solidly built with short hair.  
  
"And please, call me Gail."  
  
Jordan smiled. Maybe this was going to be easier than she thought. At least Gail smiled. Woody and the other agents hadn't cracked a smile all day. All day. From Boston to New York. Suddenly, Jordan was very tired. She wanted a hot shower and bed.  
  
From his stand point, Woody noticed Jordan's shoulders slump. Looking at her face, he could see the stress of the day was catching up with her. She looked tired. And a little frightened, although she was doing her best to cover it up.  
  
"Could you excuse us, Agent Phillips?" Woody asked.  
  
"Sure thing. I'm going into the kitchen to make some tea. Would you like a cup, Jordan?"  
  
Jordan nodded. Woody gently took her by the arm and walked her to the door. For a moment he paused and looked into her eyes. Raking his fingers through his hair, he began. "Jo, I know this isn't the most convenient thing for you to do...."  
  
Jordan shot him a look.  
  
"But we really do appreciate it," he continued. "You've unknowingly put yourself in a tight spot, but you're safe here. So get some rest." He dug down into his pocket for a card. "This has my apartment number and my cell number on it. If anything happens – you get spooked by anything, something weird happens, or you just are scared, call me." He dropped the card into her hand, and pushed a wayward curl behind her ear. "Now go to bed. I'll see you in the morning." And he left.  
  
Jordan turned away from the closed door and saw Gail standing behind her, two steaming cups in her hands.  
  
"Here," Gail said. "It's not tea, it's hot chocolate. Starbucks hot chocolate. I find that chocolate goes a long way in dealing with vices," she chuckled as she sat down on the couch. "Now," she continued, motioning for Jordan to sit down beside her, "Come and tell me how you know Agent Hoyt so well." Gail wagged her eyebrows at her. She evidently had figured out that Woody had known Jordan from his time with the Boston PD.  
  
Jordan grinned. She like Gail already. At least maybe her evenings would be bearable.

================================================================

Woody sighed as he got out of the shower. God, what a day. New York to Boston, Boston back to New York. The pressure of the case. He dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist, walking over to the sink to brush his teeth.  
  
What really was the kicker was seeing Jordan again. He had been so sure that Boston and everything that it held, was behind him now. That they all were just distant memories, so much smoke through his fingers now. But the minute his plane landed, he knew he had been lying to himself. The minute he had heard Garrett's voice, he thought himself back with the Boston PD. And the minute he saw her, he was lost again. Lost in those eyes, lost in remembering what she felt like against him, lost in remembering the sweetness in her kiss.  
  
He walked into his bedroom, threw the towel on the floor and got into bed, completely nude and completely unashamed of it. He lay on his back, hands behind his head, and re-thought his decision to join the FBI. Sure, it was better money. Sure, there were better benefits. Sure, it offered a better chance for promotion and advancement. But mainly, it had gotten him away from her.  
  
Sternly reminding himself that their relationship, or rather lack of it, was the real reason he left Boston, Woody tried to sleep. But he couldn't. He kept seeing her. Something was different about her. A new softness, maybe? She seemed more settled, more peaceful. Woody rolled over. A thought filtered through his mind. Had she taken down the emotional walls she had so carefully erected over the years? Just as quickly, he dismissed it. No. Not Jordan. She didn't really trust anyone.

=============================================

The next morning Woody arrived at Jordan's room a little early. Tentatively, he knocked at the door. Gail answered. "Hey, Woody. Jordan's up, she's still getting ready. I'm going to go and head home, if that's okay."  
  
Woody nodded and Gail left. A few minutes later, Jordan came out of her bedroom. She had on a denim skirt with a slit up the front and a red sweater. Her hair was loose and wavy. Woody swallowed. He had rarely seen her in a skirt while he was in Boston. Damn, she looked good.  
  
"Good morning," Jordan greeted him.  
  
"Good morning," he returned, noticing the dark circles under eyes were gone.  
  
"Want some coffee?"  
  
"Ummm, no. Are you about ready to go?"  
  
Jordan took a sip of her coffee. "What's going to happen to me today, Woody?"  
  
"You'll have to tell your story to a few more people, show your report, and let us examine the pictures. Believe it or not, that's going to take up most of the day."  
  
Jordan sighed and took her cup back to the kitchen sink. "Then can I go home?"  
  
Woody stifled a groan. He had not worked up the courage to tell Jordan that it was going to be a couple of weeks before she would be able to fly back to Boston.  
  
"Ummm....I don't know, Jor. I'm not in charge of those decisions."  
  
"But you know, don't you?"  
  
"Honestly, not for sure."  
  
"But what do you think?" Jordan came back into the living room. "What is your educated guess, Agent Hoyt?"  
  
Woody looked at his shoes and didn't reply.  
  
"That's what I thought," Jordan said. She knew then that it may be more than just a few days she would spend in Agent Winstead's "lovely city" and more than just a few days she would have to spend dealing with her re- emerging feelings for Woody.

===========================================

Jordan did spend most of the day talking with other agents. Yes, she was sure what Bob Scalanti had said about Pete Gavanotitch. Yes, she was sure about the wounds. And yes, she was sure about the type of ammunition. She felt like she was being chased around the playground by a bunch of bullies. Finally, she had taken enough questions for what she had felt was an unreasonable amount of time. Boldly looking the agents in the eye, she said, "Look. I've told you all I know nine different times to nine different sets of questions. I've been here since 8 a.m. It's now one o'clock. I need lunch, another cup of coffee, and a break. Any chance I can get that?"  
  
Woody had to chuckle to himself. Leave it to Jordan to take control of the FBI.  
  
"Sure," said Agent Winstead. "What would you like?"  
  
"I'd like to get out of this damn office for a couple of hours."  
  
Winstead nodded to Woody. "Take her across the street. Get her room service." And as they got ready to leave, Winstead lowered his voice to Woody "....and calm her down."  
  
"I'll do my best, sir."  
  
Woody and some of the other agents took Jordan back downstairs, through the parking garage. They were about to cross the street to enter the back way of the hotel, when a car rounded the corner and shots rang out. What happened from there was a blur to Jordan. She felt Woody push her to the ground and cover her with his body. Shots were returned and her ears roared. Faintly above the roar, she could hear Woody barking orders about a license tag and who the hell had cleared the area. When the danger had passed, Woody gingerly picked Jordan up.  
  
"Are you all right?" he asked, looking her over and brushing her off.  
  
Jordan was still trying to regain her breath. Some what shakily she replied, "I think so." She tried to take a step or two away from Woody, to try to regain her composure, but ended up stumbling into him instead. Immediately, his arms went around her.  
  
"Are you sure you're okay?" He looked her over. He knew what shock looked like, and it was all over her face. She wasn't okay.  
  
Shouting to the other agents to run a make on the tag and to tell Winstead what happened, he hustled Jordan across the street and up to her room. Whether she liked it or not, whether the FBI liked it or not, she wasn't leaving there again today. After pushing her into the room, slamming the door and fastening both locks, he took her into the living area where there was better light. He carefully examined her. A few scrapes on her hands and arms from being pushed to the sidewalk. Her knee was skinned, too. But the shock in her eyes startled him. Gently, he pushed her to the couch and went in search of a first aid kit.  
  
Finding one in the kitchen, he took it over to her and began to dress her scrapes and bruises. "You'd probably do this better than I do," he began "You being a doctor and all."  
  
Jordan didn't reply. She just continued to look at him with fear in her eyes.  
  
He carefully cleaned the scrapes on her hands and arms. Then he started on the one above her knee. The touch of his hand on her thigh brought her back to reality. "I can do that, Woody," she said faintly.  
  
"That's okay, Jor. I've about got it." Woody was struggling to keep his touch professional and clinical. She would never know what an effort it was costing him. "There. Feel better?"  
  
Jordan nodded. Shock was still in her eyes. Woody gently took her by the arms. "Jordan, you're okay."  
  
"Are you all right, Woody?"  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
Hearing his reply she crumpled against him, not really crying, but trying to regain some of her composure, some of her inner fortitude. Woody simply held her. Finally, she raised her head off his chest.  
  
"I never really thought it was that serious," she began. "I figured I'd come to New York, tell you what I knew, and be back home by supper time. I never thought that what I knew was really that important."  
  
Woody looked at her, his expression grave. "It is, Jo. It is very important. And dangerous. What you've told us links Scalanti's death directly to his rival mob and their main hit man. We've known Pete Gavanotitch was a killer, but have never been able to have enough evidence to directly link him to any assassinations. You gave us that. And they don't like it. And they want you to go away. Jor, you're going to have to be very careful and do everything we say, okay?"  
  
Jordan nodded.  
  
"Feel like eating something?" Woody asked. He knew he needed to get food in her.  
  
"Not really."  
  
"If I order you something, will you at least try to eat some lunch?"  
  
"Yes..."  
  
Woody picked up the phone and called room service. Then he picked up his cell phone and dialed Winstead. Briefly, he told the agent that Jordan was fine, and that it was probably best for her if she stayed in the rest of the day. She'd feel like answering more questions tomorrow. Winstead agreed.  
  
Woody looked over at Jordan, who had taken off her shoes and curled up on the couch. She was turned away from him, so he couldn't see her face. Hopefully, she was resting, or at least trying to. He left her alone until room service brought the sandwiches and soup. Jordan heard the door and sat up.  
  
"Lunch is here," Woody said.  
  
Jordan tried to eat some of what came from the restaurant. Her stomach was still knots. She managed to get the soup down, but the sandwich felt as if it was choking her. Gamely, she said, "I'm going to put that in the 'fridge for later."  
  
Satisfied that she had at least gotten something substantial in her, Woody nodded. "Why don't you try to take a nap, Jor? It would probably do you good."  
  
Jordan agreed. She went into her bedroom to take a shower. She carefully examined herself in the mirror. Just a few minor bumps and bruises. On the outside at least. Inside was a different story. She was still shaken from the attempt on her life. And she was still feeling the after effects of Woody's hands on her thigh. She thought she was over that feeling and over him. Grimly, she laughed to herself. Not a chance. Not as long as she and he were thrown together in this Scalanti thing. Not as long as he still had those incredible eyes. And not as long as the mere touch of his hand caused her knees to buckle.


	4. A Visit from Garrett

Questions. Questions. And still more questions. Jordan felt like she was being picked apart by the FBI.  
  
After the attempt on her life, her security had been beefed up substantially. At night, Gail was still there, but the bureau had also posted two other agents outside her door. She was carefully transported back and forth between the bureau building and her hotel, often put in a car and driven for blocks before the agents would double back and get her into her room. It all seemed like a bit much for a ME from Boston.  
  
And the agents were still questioning her, although not quite as intensely as they had the first couple of days. Now it was more technical questions about the autopsy. And the bureau was talking about shipping the body from the Boston morgue to the FBI headquarters.  
  
Upon hearing this, Jordan jokingly asked Agent Winstead about a prisoner exchange – the body for her. He didn't think it was very funny.  
  
"No one in this outfit has any sense of humor," Jordan thought. She missed Nigel and Garrett. She missed their humor and their ability to work as a unit. The FBI and she were not playing well together.  
  
Finally, one afternoon when she had taken enough questions, and was so tired of being at either the bureau or her hotel room, she picked up the phone and called Nigel.  
  
"Why hello, love," she heard the lanky Englishman say over the phone lines, "How's it going up there?"  
  
"It's going, Nige. I feel like I'm being picked apart by vultures."  
  
"I'm sorry. Anything I can do?"  
  
"Come get me?"  
  
"No can do, love. But I did hear that the FBI called Macy this morning and requested the body be shipped to their office. Macy's even talking about accompanying the body."  
  
"Garrett's coming here?"  
  
"Looks like it."  
  
Jordan sighed. It would be good to see someone from home.  
  
"And how's everything else going?" asked Nigel.  
  
Jordan was confused. "What else?"  
  
"You know...Woody....you....hotel rooms complete with massage oils...."  
  
"You have too much time on your hands, Nige. There is nothing going on with me and Woody anymore."  
  
Nigel reflected for a minute. After Woody had left, Jordan had seemingly put the young detective behind her. She rarely spoke of him publicly. Most of her friends just figured that she had put a stake through that relationship the same way she had her others. Over, done, forgotten about. Get on with the future.  
  
Nigel knew better. He had seen, and still saw, the pain in Jordan's eyes when someone would bring up his name. He had witnessed her reactions when she would flip open an old file and see his handwriting. And only he knew that Jordan still slept in Woody's old Boston PD sweatshirt that he had accidentally left at her apartment.  
  
More than that, he knew that it had taken Woody's leaving to make Jordan tear down the emotional walls she had built around herself all these years. Jordan, in her own way, had an epiphany. She realized that those walls had cost her more through the years than she may ever recover – friendships, jobs, relationships, and most of all Woody. Not wanting to go through the pain of these losses again, she had painstakingly sought to remove the obstacles in her life that kept people at arm's length. It took a lot of therapy with Dr. Stiles, and more effort on her part than she would ever admit, but the walls came down.  
  
A heroic, celebratory event that created a softer, warmer Jordan. A Jordan that most people, including himself, found intensely appealing. But, perhaps unknowingly even to herself, Jordan had given her heart to her young detective. And he had unwittingly taken it with him when he left Boston. She had never recovered her heart – it was still Woody's – a fact that Nigel would bet good money that Woody was not aware of.  
  
"Well, just a little wishful thinking on my part, love," Nigel said, in a low, comforting voice. "I'd just like to see you really happy again."  
  
"Thanks. But he's incredibly busy. And he's changed, Nige."  
  
"How so?"  
  
Jordan paused for a minute. "He's harsher, more serious. He doesn't smile anymore." Indeed, now that Jordan thought about it, she hadn't seen Woody's 10 million watt smile once since she had been in New York.  
  
"It's a serious situation, Jor."  
  
"I know..it's just..."  
  
"Can't capture the past and the future's a little scary?"  
  
"Yeah. And a little bit of my past would go a long way in helping me right now."  
  
"Well, as best my computer is telling me right now, Macy's due to fly out of here with the body at 10 a.m. tomorrow. So maybe that will help."  
  
"It does. Thanks, Nige. Take care."  
  
"You take care. Call me if you need me."  
  
Jordan hung up the phone and ran her fingers through her hair. Garrett was coming. That would be great.

===========================================================

The next morning, Jordan found herself in an unfamiliar autopsy room. As she was looking around, making sure everything was laid out that she needed, the body of Scalanti was wheeled in and behind it was a very familiar face.  
  
"Garrett!" Jordan went over to hug her boss.  
  
"Hey, let me look at you. Heard you had a little excitement last week. Are you okay?" Garrett asked, referring to the shooting.  
  
"Fine, just fine. Ready to come home."  
  
"Any clue when they're going to let you?"  
  
"Not yet."  
  
Assorted FBI agents, including Woody, were filing into the room. Step by step, Garrett and Jordan went through the autopsy procedure with them, beginning with trace and working through the Y-incision. Jordan took particular sadistic pleasure in describing in great detail each of the gory wounds and what each hollow-tipped bullet did. She was more than gratified to see that several of the agents, including Winstead, were turning that sickening shade of green. Finishing up, she snapped off her gloves and rolled the body into the crypt.  
  
"Was all that really necessary, Jordan?" Woody asked, referring to her colorful descriptions.  
  
"For me it was, Farm Boy."  
  
They both stopped and looked at each other, startled. Jordan held her breath. She hadn't called him Farm Boy the whole time she had been in New York. Suddenly, it was like time stood still. They were back in Boston, in her morgue, and he had never left for New York. Five years seemed to melt away at the turn of a phrase.  
  
"Jordan..." Woody whispered, reaching out to touch her face, only to be interrupted by Garrett.  
  
"Are you ready?" Garrett asked Jordan. They were going back to her hotel room for lunch.  
  
"Yeah, she's ready," Woody replied, his FBI face returning, "We'll get the agents to escort you two over."  
  
Jordan swallowed and closed her eyes. "That was just a little too intense," she thought. But she would have given her next paycheck to know what Woody was going to say before they were interrupted.

======================================

Garrett stayed for two days. Jordan was incredibly happy to have someone from home to talk to. And Garret knew her well – in many ways better than Nigel. Dr. Macy was a combination big brother, friend, and semi-father figure. She had confessed more to him than she ever had her parish priest.  
  
The first day, they were still working with the FBI in autopsy. The feebees had their own ME and they conferred with him. The next day, they played catch up until it was time for Garret's plane to leave.  
  
"Honestly, Jo, how are you doing?"  
  
"I'm okay. I'm ready to come home, but there's no telling when that's going to happen."  
  
"How's it going, working with Woody again?"  
  
Jordan tried to plaster a happy smile on her face, but Garrett was seeing right through it. "He's changed Gar. He's not the same Woody that was in Boston."  
  
"So I gathered."  
  
"He's more serious. Never smiles."  
  
"Well, he's FBI now, they're not particularly known for their sense of humor."  
  
"I know. Central casting has changed him more than he realizes."  
  
"Maybe you can put a smile back on his face?"  
  
Jordan shrugged. "I don't think so. I see him during the day, but I have a feeling Woody's moved on."  
  
And as much as it hurt her to admit it, deep down inside she knew her hunch was right. During the day, he was Agent Hoyt up one side and down the other. He was cool. He was professional. And other than that one situation when she called him Farm Boy, he was distant.  
  
She had lain awake at nights, after he left her in Gail's care, and wondered at the distance between the two. She had made an effort to keep in touch with Woody after he left Boston. Cards, e-mails, anything to keep the communication open. Gradually, he stopped returning her e-mails. Her birthday and Christmas cards went unacknowledged. She had hoped against hope, when she found out she was in Woody's care as long as she was in New York, that the distance between them would melt. If anything, he had become more wary of her, handing her off to other agents for them to escort her, spending only the time necessary for him to do his job in her presence.  
  
All the signs were adding up for her. Woody had moved on. He had a new life. He may even have a new girlfriend. She swallowed hard. If he did, she didn't want to know. And she definitely didn't want to see them together. She didn't think she could handle it.


	5. Midnight talks

"Ready, Garrett?" Woody asked. He was standing outside his SUV, waiting as Garrett was saying his last good-byes to Jordan. Looking through his reflective sunglasses, he watched as they hugged good-bye. It had been a double-edged sword for him to observe those two. The easy-going banter and loving ribbing had taken him back to another place and time. A time when getting the girl seemed like a distinct possibility. A time when chasing the bad guy finally led somewhere. A place that was warmer, where the beer was colder, and the people were nicer. Hell, it made him think of home.  
  
Not home as in Wisconsin. No, that hadn't been home in years. Boston. In many ways, Woody still thought of Boston as home, even though he had worked hard to put the city out of his mind. Boston. He sighed. He hoped the bureau would be able to wrap this case up quickly and get Jordan home before much longer. His carefully crafted FBI façade was getting some pretty heavy duty cracks in it. Especially after she called him Farm Boy.  
  
The shock of the phrase. He hadn't been called that in over five years. It slipped out of her mouth like her own name. It knocked the wind out of him and reeled his head around like a good left hook. Farm Boy. _Her _Farm Boy. And it had startled her, too. He could read it in her face and her eyes. If nothing else, the police and FBI training had taught him to read body language well. She was as shocked as he had been. The past had bore down on them like a coming apocalypse with the mere turn of a phrase.  
  
"Yeah, I'm ready," Garrett said, putting his bag in the back seat of the SUV. Turning around, he spoke to Jordan one last time. "Be careful. Come home soon. And try not to give these guys too hard of a time, huh?" He kissed her on the check and swept her up in a hug.  
  
Jordan was trying to control the tears that were creeping out from under her eyelids. "I'll be careful, and I'll be good. Tell Nige I miss him. And..and..I miss you, too," she said, choking back the tears. "And I'll be home as soon as I can," she continued, her voice lowering to a whisper.  
  
Garrett got in the SUV and watched Jordan in the mirror until she was out of sight. "Funny," he said to Woody, "All those years I worried about her running again, now she's here in New York, and all she wants to do is come home. Any chance you know when that will be?"  
  
Woody didn't answer immediately. He was trying to couch his answer in realistic terms. "Garrett, there's been a deliberate attempt made on Jordan's life. We're aware of numerous threats against her. I honestly don't know. I don't know if she's going back to Boston or staying here."  
  
Garrett nodded. "The main thing is to keep her safe."  
  
"I know. She will have to testify, and I hope to keep her out of harm's way for that and bring her back to Boston safe and sound and in one whole, healthy piece."  
  
"Can you keep me informed of what's going on?"  
  
"Yeah, I'll do my best as much as they will let me."  
  
They had reached the airport. Woody let Garrett out at the curb. "Take care of my girl," Garrett said.  
  
"I will. I'll keep her safe."  
  
"That's not quite what I meant, Hoyt. She's still crazy about you. Be careful with her heart. Even if you bring her back to me in one piece, if her heart's broke again, it will take me months to get her back on track." And with one final wave, Garrett was gone.  
  
Crazy about him? Her heart broken again? He didn't know he broke it in the first place. She had never let on, never said a word.....Did Garrett really know what he was talking about? Woody ran his hand through his hair. Hadn't she moved on five years? Oh hell, had he?

Woody went back to his office after dropping Garrett off to catch his plane. He closed the door and pretended to deal with some paperwork that was threatening to take over his desk. But his mind kept going back to Jordan and what Garrett had said. Finally, he stood up and grabbed his coat. He was going back over to the hotel and check on her.  
  
Taking the elevator to the tenth floor, he knocked softly at her door. "It's me, Jordan. It's Woody."  
  
Jordan checked the peephole in the door to verify his claim and unlocked the door, slowly pushing it open. Woody came in and she locked it again.  
  
"Did Garrett get to the airport okay?"  
  
"Ummm yeah."  
  
"Do you need to ask me anymore questions?"  
  
"Not today, Jo."  
  
"Then why are you here?" Jordan didn't think his FBI aloofness would allow for a social call.  
  
Woody loosened his tie. "I just wanted to check on you. I mean you seemed pretty upset when Garrett had to leave."  
  
Jordan looked down at the carpet. It was a nondescript gray rug...like everything else she had seen so far in New York...nondescript, impersonal, cold.  
  
"I am. I miss home, Woody. I miss my friends. I miss my work."  
  
Woody sat down on the couch. "You don't miss your family?"  
  
Walking over to the window, looking at the bleak New York landscape, Jordan replied, "I don't have any family in Boston anymore, Woody. No one except my 'family' at the morgue. Dad's still not come home."  
  
Woody digested that fact. He had assumed that Max would have returned by now. So Jordan was alone, more or less. No wonder she had held onto Garrett the way she did. No wonder she was as anxious to return to familiar surroundings. It was all she had.  
  
He was getting ready to ask her if she had heard from Max when his radio went off, requesting that he come to Winstead's office immediately. Rising from the couch, he walked over and gently ran his hand down her arm. "We'll get you home Jo, as soon as we can. I need to talk to you, but I have to go now. Maybe tomorrow?"  
  
Jordan nodded. He let himself out.

================================================

Winstead was pacing when Woody arrived. "Where have you been, Hoyt?"  
  
"Taking care of Jordan," he replied. This seemed to calm his boss down a little.  
  
"That's good. Real good. Because we've just got information about another threat on your little Boston ME. We're going to have to move her."  
  
"Where to?"  
  
"That's what we're trying to work out now. Where would be the safest place to stash her until we make an arrest and the heat dies down?"  
  
Woody rankled at the word "stash." It made Jordan sound like a thing instead of a living, breathing person. "How about that safe house in New Hampshire?" he suggested.  
  
Winstead shook his head. "Too close. And occupied already. We need to think, Hoyt. It's got to be safe, but it's got to be somewhere that she would be relatively comfortable. I've got Atkins working on it. You need to let her know that she may not see Boston for a while."  
  
Woody thought that cutting his right arm off might be easier than what his boss asked him to do. He took himself to a local bar to drink through this problem. Finally deciding that there was nothing like the truth, even if it was backed up by Scotch fortitude, he made his way back to Jordan's hotel room. It was late. He doubted she'd be up, but he needed to get this off his chest.  
  
After showing his badge to the agents outside the door, he knocked. "Hey, she won't answer," said one of the agents. "She's in bed."  
  
"Where's Agent Phillips?"  
  
"She had a family emergency and was called home. Our boss said that two agents outside her door would be okay for one night, as long as we go in every few hours to check on her."  
  
Woody cursed. Now what? She was in immediate danger and was alone in that room. "Where's the master key?" he growled.  
  
Wordlessly the agent handed Woody the key card and he let himself in. Woody shut the door and locked it. He didn't want to be interrupted by an agent "just doing his job." Softly, he walked into Jordan's bedroom and over to her bed. The room was dark, except for the soft glow of the screensaver on her laptop. She was on her side, curled up, fast asleep. For a moment, Woody questioned the wisdom in waking her up and imparting the news that her life was going to take one more loop on this rollercoaster ride. Maybe morning would be better, he thought, but he needed to get this taken care of now.  
  
"Jordan," he said, gently shaking her. "Jordan."  
  
She mumbled something and buried her face in the pillow.  
  
"No, Jordan, we need to talk," Woody said, turning on the lamp beside the bed.  
  
"Not now. You said tomorrow."  
  
Woody checked his watch. "It is tomorrow, Jo."  
  
"Tomorrow later. Like when the sun comes up in this god-forsaken town."  
  
"No, Jo, this is important." Wood rolled her over to her back so she would wake up and listen to him.  
  
And immediately wished he hadn't. When he turned her over, the covers managed to scrunch down to her waist, revealing her nightgown in the dim light of the room.  
  
The entire time he had known Jordan, she had never slept in a gown. She had always gone to bed in tank tops and girl boxers, or just sweats. But this was definitely a nightgown that screamed femininity. It was made of thin, white material, held up by the tiniest of ribbons on her shoulders. It was lace and flowers and pure seduction all confected in one garment. Woody swallowed hard.  
  
"What is it, Wood?" Jordan asked, beginning to sit up. Woody pushed her back down and drew the covers up to her neck. "Cut it out! What is wrong?" she asked again, pushing his hands and the covers away and sitting up so she could see him better.  
  
"This is not good," Woody thought. Now, not only was he having to contend with the nightgown and what it was vaguely revealing to him, but her hair was loose around her shoulders. He swallowed again. She looked like ....well....he was trying not to think about what she looked like.  
  
"Woody?"  
  
Swallowing hard yet one more time, Woody tried to make the words come out of his mouth. "Jordan.."  
  
"Yes"  
  
"Jordan..."he began again. "There's been some threats made against you in the last few days. Some substantial threats. We're concerned about your safety..." Woody was losing his train of thought as he looked into her honey- colored eyes.  
  
"And..." Jordan said.  
  
"And we're not sure you should remain here in New York, but not sure you should go back to Boston."  
  
"No!" Jordan said, rather forcefully even for her. Deliberately she swung her legs over the side of the bed and walked over to the dresser, leaning back against it.  
  
"Bad move, Woody," he told himself. The nightgown reached her feet, but was offset by two slits on either side that reached her thigh. Way up her thigh. "Too far up her thigh," thought Woody. "Aren't those things illegal to wear?" And to top it off, with Jordan leaning back against the dresser, he had the exquisitely painful opportunity to view her in the gown from all sides, front and back. He struggled to keep his breathing normal.  
  
"We'll talk about this tomorrow, Jo. I just needed to tell you to be prepared," Woody got up. He needed to get out of this room. Fast. Only his legs were not cooperating and his eyes wouldn't stop looking.  
  
Jordan blocked the door. "No. Not until you tell me where I'm going."  
  
"I..I..I..dont' know yet, Jo. Let me out, now."  
  
"Will you be coming with me?"  
  
"I don't know that either."  
  
Jordan sighed and sat back down on the bed, covering her face with her hands. Even though he was cold and aloof with her, she felt the safest with Woody. She always had. Hell, she always would.  
  
At that point, Woody gave up the battle. He knew he had lost it. When she slumped back down on the bed after he told her he wasn't sure if he would be going with her or not, it was over for him. One look at her face did it. Knowing he was probably going to regret it, he sat down beside her and took her in his arms.  
  
"It will be okay, Jo, I promise. I'll see what I can do." His hands began to move up and down her arms, a movement he meant to be comforting. She buried her face in his neck.  
  
"Okay. Thanks Woody."  
  
He didn't stop rubbing her arms. He moved his hands around to her back and gently began rubbing it. "Just to calm her down and get her to go back to sleep," he told himself. He wasn't prepared for her sigh and her arms to tighten around his neck. He shifted her slightly to one side and her hair fell back, revealing her neck. Before he could stop himself, he was gently kissing the side of her neck, from the ear to where that neck joined her shoulders.  
  
Jordan caught her breath, telling her body to calm down. "Just because another man hasn't touched you in five years," she sternly told herself. "Oh damn," Woody had just found the spot behind her ear that made her knees buckle. She felt his lips there and then his tongue. A chill went up her spine. His hands had moved from her back to her sides, gently tracing their way up and down them. Just as slowly, Woody kissed his way from her neck to her lips, claiming them.  
  
Jordan's world was spinning now. His lips were coaxing, gently easing hers apart so he could rub her tongue with his. A moan came from her throat. He pulled her closer, letting one of his hands trail back up to her breast while the other began a leisurely journey to the slit in the side of her gown. She moaned again and heard his in response. "Oh God," was the last coherent thought she had before a knock came at the door.  
  
"Hoyt, you still in there?" asked the agent outside.  
  
"Damn it, damn it, damn it," Woody thought. But he cleared his throat and said, "Yes...I'll be back out in a minute." Gently, he laid Jordan back down on the bed, letting his eyes roam over her flushed face and body. He pulled the covers up over her and softly kissed her lips one more time. "I'll see you in the morning," he whispered, flipping off the light and touching her cheek.  
  
Checking himself in living room mirror before he left, he noticed that his tie was undone, his shirt was unbuttoned and his belt was unbuckled. How in the hell did she do that without him noticing? He shook his head and righted his clothes. He doubted either he or Jordan would get much sleep tonight.


	6. A Serious Threat

The decision had been made. They were moving Jordan to a safe house along the California coast. Winstead knew that her testimony was critical to his case against Pete Gavanotitch. The bureau had also been tracing activity relating to the mob and Jordan. Her name had been tossed around too much on the streets for the bureau to take any chances. Winstead figured the further away he could get Jordan from Boston and New York, the better. California fit the description.  
  
Woody was on his way over to break the news to Jordan. He wasn't sure what her reaction would be. Indeed, he wasn't sure how she was doing at all. Since their little interlude night before last, he had gone out of his way not to see her.  
  
He reasoned with himself that there were agents that could look after her as well as he could. That his energies would be better spent concerning her safety in looking for a new location. That was the rational side of his brain talking. The other side of his brain was telling him a completely different story. What would he do when he saw her again? How would he react? How would she react? Part of him desperately wanted to know and another part of him told him to leave it alone...put it in the past. What happened was just the result of a beautiful woman in a very revealing night gown that was too available. At least that's what he kept telling himself.  
  
He didn't believe it, not even for a second.  
  
But it sounded good, it sounded rational, and it helped him get over the guilt of avoiding those honey-colored eyes until his FBI façade was firmly back in place. Smiling grimly to himself, he entered the hotel's freight elevator and punched 10.

==============================================================

Jordan had been in her hotel room for two days now. Two long days. Two Woody-less days. It had taken her quite a while to cool her body back down after he left that night. For a long time she had just lain there, reliving the moments. When he failed to show up the next day, she grew angry. She had pulled the card out that he gave her with his phone numbers on it and nearly called to give him a piece of her mind. But she chickened out at the last minute. Instead, she threw the card away. She would see him soon enough.  
  
And soon came, well, sooner than she thought. She heard a soft knock at her door and felt who it was even before she answered it. And she was right. It was Woody.  
  
If she had expected remorse or longing for the unfulfilled event, she was sorely disappointed. His agent face was firmly snapped into place. "Good morning, Jordan," he said.  
  
"Good morning yourself."  
  
Woody pulled off those ever-present sunglasses. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Just peachy. You?"  
  
Woody looked at her carefully. She was angry. And hell, he expected her to be. He hadn't called her or saw her the next morning as he had promised. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," he thought "And heaven and hell help you if that woman is Jordan."  
  
"I need to talk to you about relocating," he began.  
  
"I'm not going anywhere unless it's Boston."  
  
"Jordan, that's impossible. Gavanotitch and the rest of his people know you live in Boston."  
  
"I'll dye my hair, buy a new car, change apartments. I could stay with Eddie Winslow."  
  
Woody nearly flinched at that statement. How close was Jordan to Eddie? He couldn't picture it, but he supposed in five years anything was possible. They were pretty chummy in her apartment that day he came to get her to bring her to New York. But there was no way she was going to stay with Eddie. That would happen over his dead body.  
  
"No. I'm afraid that's not possible."  
  
Jordan sighed and walked over to the window. Shoulders sagging in defeat, she asked, "Then where am I going?"  
  
"California."  
  
She swung around and stared at Woody in shock. "California? Surely, that's not necessary..."  
  
"Look, Jo, we have to keep you safe at least until an arrest is made. Winstead wants you as far away from Boston and New York as possible. California fits."  
  
"When will an arrest be made?"  
  
"We're working just as hard and fast as we can."  
  
"When do I leave?"  
  
"Tonight. I'll be here around eight to pick you up. Be ready."  
  
And with that Woody was gone, leaving Jordan to pick up the pieces of her scattered life and try to arrange them into some sort of shape. Numb from the information, she picked up the phone and called Nigel. He answered on the second ring.  
  
"Nige..."  
  
"Jordan!" At least he sounded delighted to hear from her.  
  
"They're....they're moving me Nigel."  
  
"Where to, love?"  
  
"California."  
  
"You're kidding, right? You're coming home."  
  
"I wish I was, Nige. I wish I was kidding and I wish I was coming home. But I'm not."  
  
"Sweet Nancy, what is their reason?"  
  
On the other end of the phone, Nigel was motioning for Garrett to pick up the extension. They both listened as Jordan explained the situation.  
  
"Well, it's like this," she began, struggling to keep her voice from breaking. "Evidently this Gavanotitch is pretty serious about shutting me up permanently. So there's all kinds of rumors out there about what he might do. Winstead said he needed to keep me as far away from Boston and New York as possible. So, I'm headed to California."  
  
"When?" asked Garrett  
  
"Garrett? Is that you?"  
  
"Yeah. When are you leaving?"  
  
"Tonight."  
  
Garrett and Nigel looked at each other in disbelief.  
  
"Anyway," Jordan continued, "I just wanted to let you know. I'm leaving at eight."  
  
"Will you be able to call us when you get there?" asked Nigel.  
  
"I don't know. I don't know much of anything."  
  
"Is Woody going with you?" Garrett inquired.  
  
"I know he's taking me to the airport. I don't know anything else." That hit Jordan hard. She had been put in his care and now she didn't know how that was going to change. Would he stay with her, or come back to the East Coast?  
  
Garrett blew out a sigh and pulled his glasses off. He was going to call Woody himself, as soon as he calmed down. FBI or no FBI, Jordan deserved better than to be jerked around like this.  
  
"I guess I need to go and get packed, guys. Take care of yourself."  
  
"You, too Jordan," Nigel said.  
  
"Look, Jo, be careful and do everything they tell you to. Stay safe," Garrett told her.  
  
Jordan slowly hung up the phone. There was no one else to call...she had no clue where her dad was. Her closest friends were just notified. She turned and went into the bedroom. She really needed to do laundry before she left.

==================================================

True to his word, Woody was at her apartment at eight. She was ready to go, with her suitcases packed and in the hall. Jordan hugged Gail goodbye and handed off her luggage. As before, Woody took her arm and headed her down the hall, keeping her in the center of a cluster of FBI agents. He leaned over and softly whispered in her ear, "It's good that we're leaving."  
  
She turned and gave him a puzzled look.  
  
"The threats were stepped up this afternoon." They exited the elevator and Jordan found herself in the backseat of an SUV with Woody beside her.  
  
"They were real and credible threats, Jo." The SUV pulled out of the garage and onto the thoroughfare. "And I don't think we left a minute too soon...."  
  
A deafening blast cut off whatever else Woody was saying. Woody threw himself over Jordan as the SUV rocked with the after waves of the explosion. "PICK IT UP! PICK IT UP!" yelled Woody to the driver, who floored the vehicle. Sirens blaring and moving at high rates of speed, the FBI convoy pulled into the highway and headed for the airport. Jordan wiggled out from under Woody and turned back to look at the hotel. There, where her room had been, was a gaping hole in the side of the building. Jordan shut her eyes and fought the waves of nausea that welled up. Turning back around, she looked at Woody who was busy screaming directions into his ear piece. She slid down into her seat. Maybe California wasn't such a bad idea.

==================================================================

The rush to the airport, the haste to get on the plane, the sheer madness of it all was taking a toll on Jordan and Woody knew it. She hadn't said a word the entire time. The only thing that she response she had given Woody was a curt "I'm fine," when he asked if she was hurt. Other than that, she was silent.  
  
Arriving on the tarmac, the SUV pulled up beside the private plane and the agents got out of the vehicles. "Come on Jordan," Woody had said as he opened her door, "Come to me." And she had, quickly and without argument, grabbing his hand tightly. He hustled her up the stairs and into the plane, quickly followed by agents carrying her luggage. He got her settled and told her to buckle. Then he called Winstead to reassure him that Jordan was at the airport and on the plane.  
  
Jordan was looking out the window, wondering how long it would be before the plane took off. The sooner the better, as far as she was concerned. A long-neck bottle appeared in front of her eyes. Glancing up at the hand, and then the arm, and then the face that beer belonged to, she saw Woody, who was grinning down at her. "I think you need one after this afternoon," he said, sitting down beside her and pulling on his own.  
  
"I didn't think you could drink while you were on duty," she said.  
  
"There are exceptions to every rule," he replied, tipping back his bottle, "And this is one hell of an exception."  
  
Jordan sipped her own. "Remind you of any of the old days at the Boston PD?"  
  
Woody could remember more than a few harrowing times they had together. "Yeah. Like that time that guy rigged his house to explode when you opened the gate?"  
  
Jordan nodded.  
  
Woody chuckled. In one way that seemed like so long ago. In another way, it was like yesterday.  
  
"Ummm, Jordan about the other night," he sounded like a high school kid that had gotten caught making out with his girlfriend.  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"I didn't mean for it to happen....I mean to happen like that."  
  
Jordan raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Uh, you know what I mean."  
  
"No, I have no clue. You didn't come back like you said you would."  
  
Woody loosened his tie. "I mean I didn't come into your bedroom with the intent of making love to you. You were there, in that gown, and ...well..."  
  
"If you tell me it 'just happened,' I'm going to scream."  
  
"No, it didn't. Not entirely. I'm just telling you that wasn't my intent. I wanted to talk to you about relocating."  
  
"Oh." Jordan sifted this through her mind. It may not have been his intent, but it happened. Why, she still really didn't know. The heat of the moment? The temptation of the gown? The need to see if the embers of their past romance could be rekindled?  
  
She, herself, would say yes to the last one. The sparks between the two of them burned brightly again that night. So bright, she got burned again. Why was Woody bringing this up, anyway? Guilt? The need for confession? The fear she may place more importance in the event than she should? Or the fear that he would? Maybe it was just some residual lust between the two that needed to be burned away.  
  
"I'm not sorry it happened," Woody continued, "But it's over, right?"  
  
Jordan nodded. "Yeah. It's over."  
  
Woody tipped his bottle back again. "Thank goodness," he thought. "Thank goodness she's not making more out of this than she should."


	7. California Confessions

She was settled in, or at least she thought she was. As houses go, it was pretty nice. It was small, but it was secured. And it had secured phone lines so she could call out and use her laptop. The only question she still had was would Woody stay with her or not. So far he hadn't told her.  
  
She wanted him to stay for several reasons. First, she felt safest with Woody. After all they had been through together, she just felt safest with him. It was like he had some sort of invisible antennae that just knew where the bad guys were  
  
Turning away from her desk where she had been setting up her laptop, she knew she had to face the second reason. She really had known it before he stepped up to her at her apartment on Pearle Street that afternoon weeks ago in Boston. She had never really gotten over him. She never really stopped loving him. And she knew at one time, he had loved her, too, but she had put "the wall" up. She didn't want him to get hurt and she didn't want to get hurt, either.  
  
But it had backfired on her. "The wall" had only succeeded in hurting the people she loved and that loved her. It kept them at arm's length. So brick by brick, she had taken down that wall. It had been tremendously painful at times, but the rewards had been so gratifying.  
  
Somehow she had to make Woody know "the wall" was a thing of the past.  
  
Softly walking down the hallway to the kitchen, she saw Woody talking to the other agents. Leaning against the doorway, she waited until he was through. Catching his attention, she motioned for him to follow her to the living room.  
  
"What is it, Jo? What do you need?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. He was still in FBI mode.  
  
"I was just wondering how the set up was."  
  
"I thought we went over that – the house is secured. There's agents posted outside, a full alarm system, secured lines..."  
  
"No, not that. Who's staying with me?"  
  
Woody sighed. This was the hard part for him. "I am, Jo. At least for the next few days, then I have to go back to New York and finish up the case."  
  
Jordan nodded. "Thanks, Wood. I know you're getting tired of babysitting me. Hopefully, it will all be over soon." Jordan turned and walked back into her bedroom. He was back to being the cool, distant FBI agent. She wasn't sure she could get him to stop so that she could talk to him. Sitting down on her bed, she suddenly realized how tired she was. Bone-tired weary. Getting up one more time, she took off her clothes and pulled on Woody's old Boston PD sweatshirt. It was huge on her slim figure, hanging down nearly to her knees. At least he couldn't say this was too sexy. And it kept him close to her, at least in her heart. Curling up on the bed, she dozed off.

======================================================

Woody finished filling in the details of this case with the California agents that would take over watching Jordan while he was in New York. "Damn, how late is it?" he thought. Jordan hadn't eaten, as far as he knew. He walked to her bedroom. The door was shut and the light was off. Peeking in, he saw she was sleep.  
  
On that aspect, he had to agree with her. It had been a long day and he was tired. Pulling off his tie and taking off his belt and shoes, he laid down on the couch. He was too exhausted to make it to his bedroom.  
  
======================================================

Hungry....she was hungry.....her growling stomach woke her, protesting its lack of dinner. She got up and peeked out her door. The kitchen was dark...the agents must have left hours ago and Woody had gone to bed. Quietly, she made her way to the refrigerator.  
  
He had heard her the minute her bedroom door opened. He had sat up on the couch and watched her come across the room to the kitchen. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, but what caught his eye was what she was wearing.  
  
No, thank God it wasn't that nightgown again. He wasn't sure what he would have done if she paraded through the kitchen in that. It was the sweatshirt. His old Boston PD sweatshirt. He had wondered what happened to it. Now he remembered. Why did she still have it? Why had she kept it after all these years? Was she still crazy about him, as Garrett had said?  
  
He had to admit she looked far better in than he ever did. Even sexier than she had been in the nightgown. He swallowed hard. The sweatshirt stopped right above her knees – almost mid-thigh, revealing her long legs. He couldn't stop himself. Stealthily, he had risen from the couch and caught her at the refrigerator.  
  
"What are you up to?" he asked.  
  
Jordan yelped, startled. Where'd he come from? She whirled around to face him. "Dinner....I haven't had dinner yet."  
  
"Me, either."  
  
Scoping out the well-stocked refrigerator, they settled on sandwiches, and once again for Jordan, it seemed like time had stood still. Woody's FBI mask was left somewhere in the living room. Jordan didn't know exactly what made him leave it there, but she was living for the minute. He was her Farm Boy again, at least for one evening.  
  
He was in the middle of telling a joke, smiling at the punch line, when he stopped. "What are you looking at, Jo? You haven't heard a word I said."  
  
"Your smile. I haven't seen you smile since I came to New York." She had literally caught her breath when she saw his dimples again. She ran two fingers down his face. "You look like yourself again."  
  
Woody caught her fingers and raised them to his lips, gently kissing each one. Leaning over to her, he then caught her lips in a soft kiss – a kiss reminiscent of the ones they had shared in Boston, under the stars, after leaving the Pogue and walking her to her car. Innocent, sweet, full of promise. Jordan felt tears gather in the corner of her eyes.  
  
"Jo, don't cry," Woody whispered. "It's okay." He kissed her eyes, tasting the salt of her tears on his lips. "Shh....baby, what's wrong?"  
  
"It's just good to see you acting like..... like....yourself again."  
  
Woody gave her a puzzled look.  
  
"You've been acting like Mr. G-man the entire time I've been in New York."  
  
"Jordan....I am a G-man now."  
  
"But that's not you, Woody. At least not the Woody I used to know."  
  
"Five years has gone by, Jo. I've changed where I live, changed jobs...it's no wonder I'm not like the Woody you used to know."  
  
Jordan nodded. This was her "in" and she knew it.  
  
"I know. A lot has changed and you can't go back and re-live the past."  
  
"No, you can't Jo. You remember the good times, learn from the bad and move on."  
  
Jordan rose from the table and walked over to the sink to put her dishes in it. Woody's eyes had followed her the whole time.  
  
"I've done some changing, too, Wood."  
  
"How so?" He joined her at the sink.  
  
"You know that wall...the one I said we had to put up so that neither one of us would get hurt...the wall that I've kept up all my life because I didn't trust people?"  
  
Woody was very aware of the wall. He had bumped his head on it many times. "Yes."  
  
Jordan took a deep breath and turned to face him. "It's down, Wood. It's gone."  
  
Woody looked in her eyes. Jordan's eyes could mirror a kaleidoscope of emotions and he had learned to read them well – warmth, laughter, concern, fear. In the past, he could tell what she was thinking before she said it, just by looking at her eyes. More than once, when they had been working together, he had pulled her sunglasses off her face just to see if she was telling him the truth or pulling his leg. They were telling him the truth now.  
  
The wall was down.  
  
He should have known. He thought there was a new softness about her. That she showed her affection and emotions more readily. He had observed that while watching her and Garrett together.  
  
The wall was down, and there she was standing in front of him in his old Boston PD sweatshirt, soft and rumpled from sleep, and vulnerable, so very vulnerable to what he was going to say.  
  
What was he going to say? It would be lying to tell her that he didn't still love her. But he had a life in New York now. She was in Massachusetts. She was waiting on an answer...  
  
"That's okay, Woody, I know it's been a long time...I waited too long. I know it. I just wanted you to know..." her voice trailed off as she turned to go back into the bedroom.  
  
And felt his fingers wrap around her wrist and turn her back to him. "Jo, don't go. Not yet. Since we're being completely honest, there are a few things I need to tell you. Can we go sit down and talk?"  
  
Gently guiding her to the living room, he sat both of them down on the couch. Where did he want to begin? He took her hand and began to softly rub it between the two of his. "Jordan, five years is a long time. When I was back in Boston, I had imagined that in five years time, we would have been married, perhaps even started a family," he glanced over to her, to see how she was taking all this in. The family part seemed to have shocked her. Maybe that was something she hadn't considered?  
  
"I never thought that you would take the wall down. I knew your past – probably better than anyone else, except your dad. I knew you had solid reasons for not trusting people. And I couldn't blame you. If I had been through everything that you had, I don't know what I would have done. But I always hoped that, after everything we had been through, you would learn that you could trust at least one person, and that one person is me.  
  
"But the wall stayed up with us. And I knew that our relationship couldn't grow anymore than it did because of that damn wall. That's why I really left Boston. I couldn't deal with wanting to love you like I needed to – and like you needed me to, whether you realized it or not – and you not letting me. That's why I took the job with the FBI and left for Quantico."  
  
Woody paused for a moment glance over at her again. They were sitting, nearly facing each other, knees to knees. Her head was bent, and her chestnut hair was falling forward, hiding her face from him. He continued.  
  
"As hard as it was for me, I tried to start a new life. One with new people, new places, new opportunities. I tried to put Boston behind me. And it worked. There are days, even weeks now, that I don't give the city a thought. But the people there, well, that's a different story. People tend to get inside your head and your heart. They're harder to forget. And after awhile, I realized I didn't want to forget. I wanted to remember a lanky Englishman with an encyclopedic memory. I wanted to remember a balding chief ME that loved his employees and their friends. I wanted to remember an Irish bartender that has the best pub I've ever been in. And most of all, I wanted to remember a woman with honey-colored eyes that had the sweetest lips I've ever kissed." He reached out and gently lifted her face so that she was looking him in the eyes. "And ever since you've been in New York, all I've wanted to do is hold you," he moved over and gently pulled her into his arms. "And kiss you," he softly kissed the part of her cheek next to her mouth. "And tell you that I've not stopped loving you," he ran his fingers down the side of her face. "I've fought it the whole time you've been here. So tell me Dr. Cavanaugh, do we still have a chance, or am I going to fall on my ass again?"  
  
Jordan could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. "Oh yes, Woody. I never stopped loving you. It took your leaving to get me to see I needed to take the wall down. It's not too late, not if you still want a relationship, if you still want me..."  
  
Jordan got no further. Woody pulled her into his lap and held her tightly. The minutes just hung as they stayed that way. Pulling back a little so he could see her face, Woody kissed her. When he finally released her, it was only to turn his attention to that spot behind her ear that made her knees buckle and her breath catch. She began to toy with the buttons on his shirt, slowly undoing them, then pressing a trail of kisses along his collarbone. Woody gently slid his hand up her leg and thigh, stopping to rest on her bottom. Her bare bottom, he noted. He groaned as he realized she was wearing a thong. He needed to get her somewhere else, realizing that the agents watching outside may be observing more than they bargained for. Scooping her up, he rose. "Ummm, your room?" he asked, not sure what he would do if she said no.  
  
"Sounds like a good plan, G-man."


	8. Home Is Right Behind You

Woody stayed with Jordan for a week, making sure the California agents knew what they were supposed to do and making sure that Jordan was comfortable with them. Reluctantly, he had gotten ready to fly back to New York.  
  
"You'll be fine here, Jo," he said, not sure if he was reassuring himself or her more. "I'll get back and get this case solved. Then we'll try to get your life back to normal." He was standing in front of the mirror, struggling to get his tie tied right.  
  
"I'll miss you," she said, walking over to him and helping him straighten it, then leaning in for a kiss.  
  
Woody grinned back at her before he kissed her. His "G-man arrogance" had been left behind that night on the couch. He felt like her Farm Boy again. The week had been a series of "catch-me-up-on-this" talks sandwiched in between bouts of lovemaking. She could still rock his world. "I'll hurry as fast as I can. When I talked to Winstead this morning, he said an arrest was pretty close."  
  
Jordan made a rude sound. Winstead was not her favorite person and she feared that once Woody got back to New York, his FBI mask might show up again. "You'll call me and keep me in the loop?"  
  
"As much as I can, sweetie, as much as I can." He swung his suitcase off the bed and took it down the hall. Jordan followed. Taking her in his arms, he looked into her eyes. "Promise me something?"  
  
Jordan nodded.  
  
"Promise me you'll be careful, and do everything these agents say. They're good men and they will look after you almost as well as I do. Call me if you get scared or if something doesn't feel right."  
  
"I will. Call me when you get back to New York?"  
  
"Will do." Woody bent and kissed her one more time. "I gotta go."  
  
Reluctantly, Jordan let him go. The next weeks were going to be hard. With one more quick kiss, he was gone. She went back inside and flopped down in front of the TV. She had a feeling she was going to be watching a lot more television than normal.

=============================================================

The flight back to New York was uneventful. Woody got back home and made his way to the office. Winstead was waiting for him.  
  
"Got her settled and taken care of?"  
  
"Yeah. The California people are good at their jobs. She'll be fine."  
  
"Well, let's get you caught up."  
  
Winstead explained how far the bureau had gotten since Woody had been gone. After coordinating the evidence from the crime scene in Boston, they had mapped a plan. With Scalanti gone, then the next obvious person in line to take his place was a guy that went by the name Joey Visca. Gavanotitch would logically be gunning for him now. And as far as the bureau could tell, while they were still looking for Jordan, the mob was now more interested in Visca. It seems they had decided they would take care of the ME when she came back to New York to testify.  
  
Now it was simply a matter of watching Visca.  
  
So for the next several days, Woody and the other agents were watching Visca. Day and night. Twenty-four seven. Finally Gavanotitch made a move and was promptly brought down by the agents. He was transferred to a hospital and put under 24-hour watch.  
  
It was hoped that eventually he would talk – turn over even more information. With some persuasion, he finally agreed to cooperate in return for a new identity while he was in prison. Woody had hoped that Gavanotitch would plea out, so that Jordan could come home and not have to testify.  
  
He called her from his cell phone at the hospital. "It's over, Jordan. You can be on the next flight out. You're coming home."  
  
"Home?" Jordan thought. She now connected Woody with that word. "Home? New York or Boston?"  
  
She got her answer soon enough. The California agents told her to pack and be ready. She was booked to be on the next flight out to Boston.

=====================================================

Jordan squinted at the bright sunshine as she left the plane. It had been a direct flight. It wasn't until they were landing that she realized that no one knew she was coming back home. Sighing, she reached for her cell phone. She'd call Garrett or Nigel. One of them would come and get her.  
  
"Hey love, need a lift?"  
  
Jordan turned at the familiar voice. It was Nigel. "How did you know?" she asked, hugging him for all she worth.  
  
"Got a call from New York. Some G-man told me he couldn't make it, that he was busy tying up the loose ends of the case and asked me if I could pick you up and make sure you got home safely."  
  
Jordan grinned. Leave it to Woody.  
  
"Ready to go home?"  
  
"More than you'll ever know, Nige."

===================================================  
  
Returning to her apartment and her life as a Boston ME, Jordan wondered where she and Woody would go from there. They still talked, sometimes several times a day. He loved her, missed her, but had made no mention of their future. Jordan sighed. Could she do a long distance relationship? For Woody, she could. At least she thought she could...but not seeing him everyday...it was difficult.  
  
After one trying afternoon in autopsy, she went back to her office. It was late and everyone else had left, even Nigel. She began to work on her reports when her cell phone rang.  
  
"Cavanaugh."  
  
"Hey – it's Woody."  
  
"G-man...what's happening?"  
  
"You know, I actually miss being called Farm Boy."  
  
Jordan chuckled. "Never thought I'd hear you say that." She got up from her desk and walked to her fax machine to send the reports over to the DA, her back to her office door.  
  
"Do you miss me?" he asked.  
  
Jordan was silent for a moment. Finally, getting control over a voice she knew was going to be shaky at best, she replied, "Woody, I can't stand this. I miss you so much. I need to know...do I need to come to New York?"  
  
"Boston losing its charm?"  
  
"No...it's not that. I just want to be with you."  
  
"But Boston's your home, Jor."  
  
Jordan sighed. "I don't know anymore, Wood."  
  
"So now _you're_ wondering where home is?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess."  
  
"Do you remember what you told me when I went out to California the first time...when I got introduced to the Sunset Division? You came all the way out there just to make sure I came back to Boston. Do you remember what you told me?"  
  
She thought for a minute. "Yeah, home is right behind you."  
  
"Don't you think you should take the same advice?"  
  
Jordan slowly turned around. There, leaning against the door of her office was Woody. He flipped his phone shut and walked over to her. Sweeping her up in a tight hug, he said, "I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to see you."  
  
Jordan had buried her head in his neck, clinging to him. She was half afraid this was some vision her head had come up with. It took her a minute to realize he was real...really in her office...really back in Boston. Finally, lifting her head, she grabbed him and kissed him until he was begging for air.  
  
Sitting down on her office couch together, she hesitated to ask, but had to know. "How long are you here for?"  
  
"I just get into town and you're trying to get rid me?" Woody teased.  
  
"No. Just need to know how long I have to enjoy you...I need to pace myself, you know. I've been out of practice for a few weeks."  
  
Woody chuckled. "What if I told you may have to pace yourself for a very long time?"  
  
Jordan was confused. "Whaa?"  
  
"I got a call from Winslow the other night. He and I have been talking a lot with this Scalanti case. He told me a couple of things. First, he said you were missing me too much for your own good. Then he said that there was a position open at the Boston PD that he thought I'd be perfect for. It's in special ops. The pay was just as good as the bureau's and I could come back to Boston.  
  
"So I flew in today and interviewed. The job is mine if I want it. I just have to let them know." He looked at Jordan carefully.  
  
"So did you tell them yes?"  
  
"Not yet. It depends."  
  
"Depends? Depends on what?" Jordan couldn't imagine why he might turn down a job like this.  
  
"It depends on if this is still home for me." Woody looked at her, the question in his eyes.  
  
Jordan looked into those blue eyes that knew her better than she knew herself. They had been through so much together and too many years had slipped through their fingers. It was time to make up for all those lost opportunities. "You're home, Farm Boy," she said, catching him up in another kiss. "You're home."


End file.
